


The Second Hat

by NuMo



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, Fix-It, Post S3, Some Swearing, but it’s fixed, mention of main character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 12:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10921587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuMo/pseuds/NuMo
Summary: Pete discovers therealreason for all the weird and downright illogical things that happened after Sykes’ bomb destroyed the Warehouse.Spoilers throughout the show's final episode (which never happened).





	The Second Hat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Faerirose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faerirose/gifts).



> To my lovely wife, who helped birth this plot bunny. Happy anniversary! Love you!

„Calm yourself, agent Lattimer.”

“ _Calm?_ We’re talking about losing our home! And you are just sitting there like some kind of-” Pete broke off, almost biting his tongue in the process. When Myka tried to put a steadying hand on his arm, he rounded on her. “Mykes, don’t you see? I mean, seriously, _seriously_ , this is _wrong!_ ” He jumped up and ran from the room – it was all he could do to not scream or punch the doorway. How was it that no one would _see?_

Taking left and right turns at random, he ran full tilt until his sides ached, trying to outrun his frustration. He could get that Mrs. F wanted to retire, he really could; that woman must’ve been at it for a dozen decades now. _This just isn’t right_ , his thoughts repeated over and over, in time with his feet hitting the concrete, _this just isn’t right_.

Leena dying, that wasn’t right. 

The Warehouse exploding, Steve and H.G. and Mrs. F all dead, the world’s hope lost, that wasn’t right. At least Artie had agreed with _that_ assessment, but then the turn-back-time artifact the old man had used had turned him to the dark side, and millions of people had almost died after all, and Leena had most definitely died, and that wasn’t right, either.

That whole Paracelsus deal, that wasn’t right. Myka having fucking cancer, that super wasn’t right. People being immortal, traveling in time and actually changing things so that the future became a different thing, that wasn’t right.

And speaking of time travelers, Myka’s face when they’d driven away from H.G. in Wisconsin hadn’t been right, nor her face ten minutes ago when Mrs. F had announced what they’d be seeing first. 

A lot of things weren’t right. _Don’t even get me started on telenovelas and the idea of loving Myka anything different than just like my sister_ , he thought bleakly. An idea flickered through his mind, and he slowed. “Hang on,” he breathed. “Hang _on_ …”

-_-_-

Suddenly, Pete found himself standing in the hallway of the Bed and Breakfast, looking right into Leena’s very much alive face as she, Claudia, Myka and Artie were arguing about Mrs. Frederic. He shook himself, and felt Leena cast him a fleeting look, and fought very, very hard not to jump forward and hug her. Instead, he turned around and ran towards the coat closet in the hallway. The hope _was_ gone from this world; he felt the emptiness wrench at him more keenly than the call of alcohol ever had – he’d almost forgotten that feeling, and gritted his teeth. Leena. He’d just seen Leena, alive and well. He knew what day it was, and what he had to do.

“Pete?” he heard Myka’s suspicious voice call after him. 

“Don’t mind me,” he yelled back over his shoulder, and, under his breath, he added, “I’m just gonna go and save all your asses.” There it was, looking innocent and unassuming. He grabbed at the bag of neutralizer bags that was tacked on the inside of the closet door, and pulled one out. His hand shot forward, and-

“ _Pete! Gloves!!_ ” 

-twitched back as though he’d touched an electric fence. Good ol’ Myka, who he loved like a _sister_. Could be depended upon so many things, among them coming after him when he suddenly ran off. He reached towards the other closet door, where another bag, filled with neutralizer gloves, hang and smiled at him. 

“Glove – bag,” he announced. “Bag – glove. Hat!” He grabbed the item in question.

“Pete, have you _completely_ lost your-”

“Get your hands off my fedora, Pe-,”

“Shazaaam!” Pete called out as he slam-dunked the hat into the neutralizer bag. It showered sparks for a moment. “I knew it!” He punched his now-free hand in the air. “Who’s the boss?! Huh? Huh?! Who?”

He turned around and looked into four faces filled with varying degrees of disbelief, annoyance and anger. 

“What. The Hell, dude.” Claudia shook her head and threw her thumb over her shoulder. “Care to explain why you just neutralized Grumpybear’s favorite headpiece, instead of, you know, _trying to save the Warehouse?_ ” 

“Before I wring your neck?” Grumpybear added.

“Ladies and gentlebear,” Pete said, holding the bag aloft, “I give you: Pratchett’s Hat.”

“That isn’t Pratchett’s Hat,” Artie barked, “Pratchett’s Hat is in – _was_ in aisle 47-D. Now give it here.” He made a grab for it, but Pete simply held it up higher. 

“Ah, but it _is_ – Pratchett’s _Second_ Hat, y’see?” He almost laughed with relief. “Dude, the way that guy loves his hats, you wouldn’t think that only _one_ of them would be an artifact, would you?”

Artie, mid-grab, froze. “Second Hat?”

“Second Hat,” Pete nodded. 

“Fine, yes, alright,” Claudia added, snatching the bag and zipping it closed. “And now that it’s neutralized, Colon and Nobby here will help us save the Warehouse, yes?” She turned around and marched back towards the dining room.

“Who’re you calling Nobby?” Pete pouted, trailing after her. 

“Colon?!” Artie sounded indignant. 

“Focus,” Myka snapped at both of them. “Artie, what’s with that watch of yours? It _is_ Lavoisier’s Watch, right?”

“Hah!” Artie called out, digging in his pockets until he could hold it aloft. “Yes! ‘Nothing is lost, nothing is created, everything is transformed.’” He dangled it in front of all their eyes. 

“Hang on,” Claudia said, frowning hugely. “You’re not saying that the Warehouse was transformed into this fob watch, are you?”

“Of course not,” Artie barked back, then raised his finger. “But! Lavoisier was among the first to realize what an actual chemical reaction was, especially a thermodynamic reaction, and he realized that such a reaction might be reversible – that once a substance had burned, it wasn’t gone, but could possibly be reconstituted into its former state.” 

Everyone stared while they processed this, at the watch that swung back and forth. 

Myka was the first to shake herself out of it. “So… but… Artie, what _does_ it do, then?”

“It’ll reconstitute the Warehouse to its former state,” Artie said. “It’s specifically made – well, modified – for cases of total destruction.” He turned to Leena. “Could you, um…” he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Could you show me Mrs. Frederic, please? I assume she, ah…”

Leena took a deep breath through her nose. Then she turned and led him through to the sunroom. 

“You don’t wanna follow them,” Claudia said darkly when Pete and Myka started to go after them. “Believe me.” She, too, inhaled sharply. “What the frack happened, Myka? Pete? What’s with all this ‘reconstitute the Warehouse’ talk?”

Myka’s shoulders sagged. “The bomb…” she swallowed, gritted her teeth and went on, “Walter Sykes’ bomb was far more powerful than he imagined. We…”

When it became clear that she couldn’t go on, Pete took over. “We only survived because H.G. rigged up something,” he said grimly, “a kinda mini version of the Shackle force field. But-”

“It had to be activated from the outside,” Myka said, sounding choked. 

Claudia’s eyes and mouth dropped open as this impacted. “No.” She blinked a few times. “Dude, no, just… just…” She made a motion towards Myka, who hastily held up a hand and took a step backwards. 

In the silence, they all could hear the announcer from the next room’s TV set saying, “…exactly why there has been this sudden and steep decline across every financial market that is now open. The Dow has lost 58% of its value in the-,”

“The Ytterbium Chamber.” Artie announced as he returned from the sun room, Mrs. Frederic’s pearl necklace in one hand, the watch in the other. 

Myka frowned in confusion. “Artie, what about the Ytterbium Chamber?”

“It’s gone,” he replied, depositing both items on the table. 

“The what?” Claudia asked.

“What’s in there?” Leena asked at almost the same time.

“Pandora’s Box.” Artie sounded distracted, staring at the watch and the necklace. 

“What?” 

“Dude, what’s that even mean?”

“‘And in the bottom of Pandora’s Box’,” Myka recited slowly, “‘all that remained was hope.’” And that was another way in which Myka could be depended upon, Pete knew. He also knew that this would all shake out so much better now that the Hat was neutralized. But as Myka had said, hope was lost, and he could still feel it. He set his jaw grimly. This would work. This would make it all right.

Leena caught on the quickest. “So when the warehouse was destroyed-” 

“-the world lost hope,” Artie nodded, poking the necklace’s biggest pearl with a finger. “Now I only gotta find out where and how the data was stored.”

“Wait what?” Claudia’s head shot around to him. “This necklace is a backup of the _Warehouse_?”

“Of course it is!” Artie snapped. “It burned down once; after that, the Regents started looking into a way of creating a backup. What do you think fueled the computer race, kid?”

“You’re joking.”

Artie shook his head, still staring at the pearls. “Have I not impressed upon you,” he said in his best lecturing voice, “how important the work is that we do?” He looked up at her over the top of his glasses. “Of _course_ there’s a backup,” he repeated, slightly more gently. 

“Of just the Warehouse?” Claudia said sharply. “Or of its agents, too?”

Artie dropped his gaze and shook his head minutely. “Agents,” he murmured, “aren’t important, Claudia. Artifacts are.”

They all jumped when Claudia slammed her fist on the table. “What the hell, Artie? Mrs. Frederic is dead. _Steve_ is dead. H.G. is-” she stopped, bit her teeth, and looked sidelong at Myka.

“-dead,” Myka blinked rapidly, several times. “I know. I watched her die.” Then she set her jaw and looked straight at the youngster. “But every day, people die. Sometimes it’s people we care about, and sometimes it’s even people that we love.” She took a deep breath. “But Artie’s right. Artifacts and their safety are more important than people.” Despite her brave face, Pete could see how white her knuckles were, tucked behind her elbows. “Artie, what…” she sniffed, once, and continued, “what about the downsides?”

“Those will only become an issue if a revolution should roll around,” Artie murmured, his head tilted. “Ah-hah!” he suddenly shouted, picking the necklace up by its left second-largest pearl. “This is where you’re hiding, is it!” He shook his free fist triumphantly. 

“A revolution?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Frederic and the Regents, and probably me too, would be beheaded as traitors.”

They all started yelling at once.

“Holy-” 

“Are you for-”

“Quiet!” Artie roared. “Let’s focus, shall we? Even Regents are not important.” His mouth quirked. “Whatever they think.” From somewhere on his person, he produced a set of tiny tools and, with a mini pair of tweezers, plucked at the pearl between his fingers. “Hah!” he exclaimed as a tiny slot opened. He shook something out of it, peered at it, closed his fist around it, then straightened up and smiled grimly at each of them in turn. “This is it,” he announced, “let’s go.”

“Go? Where?” Pete asked. He didn’t have a script for this, after all.

“Where the Warehouse was,” Artie called out, already halfway to the front door. “Come on, move!”

-_-_-

“Okay,” Claudia said as they stood among the ruins. She took a deep breath, surveying the wreckage with a sharp frown. “Okay.” She swallowed and raised her chin. “So, Artie – when was the last backup, then? I mean, are we talking 1960s here, last New Year’s Eve, or yesterday?” 

Artie huffed. “Excellent question; I’ll tell you when I look at the reconstituted inventory manifest, alright?”

Despite the sun blazing down on them, they shivered. Myka’s shoulders were hunched particularly tightly, and Pete made his way to her surreptitiously. His stealth evaporated, of course, when he put his arm around her, but she didn’t pull away. This wasn’t right, he thought again. He was crossing every finger he had, hoping against hope that whatever backup mechanism the Regents had been able to come up with included agents as well as artifacts. Because Myka wasn’t alright, and neither was Claudia, and whatever Artie said, people _were_ important, goddamnit.

Artie set the watch on the hood of their car, and brought out the necklace. He opened the tiny compartment again, shook out the even tinier thingamajig from inside it, and slotted it into the watch. Then he picked it up, walked to where the entrance had been, put it reverentially on the ground, pressed the top button, and hastily retreated. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Then a wind stirred, grew livelier, grew into a storm; gathered dust and debris and grass and even the air from their lungs, or so it seemed to Pete, who had wrapped his arms not just around Myka, but Leena, too. Artie was clinging to Claudia as the whirlwind roared around them and-

“It’s putting it together again!” Pete screamed across the howling wind. “It’s… holy hurricane, Batman!” he cursed as a dead branch hit his upper arm. _Better my upper arm than Leena’s head, though,_ he thought as he winced and cupped his hand around her curls. “What do you need a dead branch for, huh?” He shouted at the Warehouse which was, indeed, rising from the ashes in front of their eyes. 

It seemed to take forever. His watch told him it’d been forty, forty-five minutes, but it seemed like forever until the wind died down to a point where they all felt they could safely move.

“Okay, the lock is the new one,” Artie called out, walking towards it.

“Artie, stop!” Pete shouted at him. “Remember HUGO-1?” He took the dead stick, which had somehow ended up at his feet, and threw it at the door in an attempt to find out if they’d be shot at by lasers anytime soon again. 

Nothing happened. 

He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Better safe than sorry, right?” he said, looking at his fellow agents, who were already moving. “Right, you guys? Come on, I _am_ right, right?”

Myka, arms still wrapped tightly around herself, mutely walked past him to follow Artie inside. Leena patted his still-smarting arm and gave him a small smile as she, too, strode off towards the door, walking in after Claudia. 

“Seriously?” Pete asked the air. He laid his head back and shouted at the blue-again sky. “Seriously?!” He folded his arms. “You better have H.G., Steve and Mrs. F waiting inside there for me,” he told the universe, “else I’m gonna be really pissed!” The last two words were shouted into the sky again, then he, too, jogged towards the door. 

He kicked the branch as he passed it, for good luck.

-_-_-

Half an hour later, he stood in aisle 47-D, bag and gloves in hand. Maybe he would tell them someday, how Artie had concocted storylines for them all, spurred by the Second Hat of Terry Pratchett (‘makes the wearer come up with fantastic stories. Family, friends and bystanders will be pulled into these stories as characters, and will, in their minds, act out what the wearer thinks up. While under the influence of this artifact, people will perceive that time – sometimes months, even years – has gone by even though it hasn’t. Has to be neutralized ‘in-universe’ as well as in the real world. Downside: stories will be deemed completely unreal by readers/listeners/watchers, as if they’re set in a fantasy world. Downside 2: wearer will henceforth always compulsively want to wear hats. Fortunately, any hat will do.’) that the old man had confused with his own black fedora. 

How it had appeared on the hat stand, Pete had no idea. Claudia had suggested pictsies. But then there were a lot of artifacts that moved around on their own, weren’t there? And Artie had put it on instead of his own, which was easy enough to explain with all the confusion and heartbreak and hope being lost and everything, and… well. The Hat drew on its wearer’s talent at storytelling – with Artie, it hadn’t had much to work with, really, Pete thought, which would probably excuse the quality especially of the latest material. He scoffed. _Cancer!_ If you don’t know what else to do with your character, give them _cancer_. And what the hell was Artie thinking making him and Myka _kiss?!_

The Discworld books were among the few that he’d actually read – he couldn’t wait to brag about that to Myka. So yeah. Maybe, someday, he’d tell them. But not today. Not when Mrs. Frederic had seemed almost human, complaining about a gray streak in her hair. Not when Claudia hadn’t needed to use a Metronome to get Steve back from the dead. Not when Myka and H.G. had run off Warehouse-knew-where (God, he hoped they weren’t in the Pete Cave – he really didn’t need those mental pictures, the idea of him having been together with Mykes had been bad enough…) 

He didn’t know if the backup or – which was the theory that he preferred – the Warehouse itself was the reason that Steve, H.G., and Mrs. F were back. And frankly, he didn’t give a damn.

He set the Hat on its stand beside the First Hat, and dusted it off with the back of a gloved hand. “Behave,” he told it sternly in his best Cary Grant voice. 

As he walked back towards the office, he could have sworn he smelled apples.

**Author's Note:**

> I took some liberties with the dialogue from "Stand" - I have no idea who said what; all I had to go from was an internet transcript that didn't tell me that. So I just went with what felt right.
> 
> Oh, and GNU Terry Pratchett. I'm sure at least one of your hats is an artifact. Thanks for everything.


End file.
